


It's All Going to be Rather Lovely

by Owenjones



Series: Good Omens One Shots [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Internal Monologue, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 01:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owenjones/pseuds/Owenjones
Summary: An exploration of Aziraphale and Crowley's thoughts during the scene in St. James Park





	It's All Going to be Rather Lovely

“We will win, of course. Heaven will - finally - strike down the forces of hell.” Aziraphale leaned closer to his adversary, “It’s all going to be rather lovely” 

Crowley scoffed, “You really believe that?” 

Of course he did. He had faith that things would go down the way he always knew they would. There would be some fighting, that was inevitable, of course. But at the end of it all, they would be ashamed of their disobedience. They would realize how much they missed God’s light. And finally, he knew that God and Heaven in their infinite kindness and mercy would welcome back all the rebellious demons with open arms. Things would finally be settled, and no one would have to be harmed (except for perhaps a few humans, which he conveniently ignored). He held firm in those thoughts: he didn’t just believe it, he knew it. 

“How many composers have your lot got up there? Mozart’s one of ours.” 

Crowley would be thankful, even if he didn’t know it yet. Somewhere inside him, he must know that Heaven will win, and it will all be for the best. He was intelligent after all, and he used to be an angel. Aziraphale could still sense some warmth radiating from him, which he always assumed was his lingering holiness. In his limited experience, he had never encountered another demon that made him feel like that. And due to that, he knew that Crowley would be the most thankful out of everyone in hell. 

How much must it hurt to be without God’s light? He never asked Crowley this, but he could sometimes sense that he was in all kinds of pain. Heaven winning would mean that the pain would be relieved, he had to realize that, surely. He was only arguing because he was obligated to. He was lying. That’s what demons do, after all. 

“All the Bachs…” Crowley continued.

He tried to not let the demon get into his head, “They’ve already written their music.”

“And you’ll never hear it again.” 

He must realize what it would mean for the two of them. If - no - When Heaven wins, they would never have to communicate in code again, or worry about getting the other one in trouble. They would never have to justify spending time together with some heavenly or hellish reason. They could just be. It was all going to be rather lovely.

“No little restaurants where they know you, no more old bookshops…” 

Humanity. Aziraphale would miss humanity, of course. It was all for the greater good, though. He knew it was all for the greater good. Crowley knew it too, but it was his job to tempt, that’s all. 

He looked up and saw a faint rainbow painting the sky above St James’ Park, and he felt vaguely sick at the sight of it. Of course God got tetchy sometimes, who doesn’t? But ultimately, God is merciful, he always knew that God is good and merciful and forgiving. 

“We’ve only got eleven years until this is all gone, we have to work together.”

Sodom and Gomorrah had been tough to rationalize, but that was for the greater good too. The flood was for the greater good. All the smiting and suffering and death and disease were all for the greater good, damn it. No matter how much he hated it, he was ultimately powerless to do _anything_ in the face of the great plan. 

But he had faith in Crowley too. And when he said he had a plan to stop it all, he had faith in it, no matter how futile he felt it would be. 

***

“It’s all going to be rather lovely” 

Crowley scoffed, surely the angel didn’t actually think that; he was certainly clever enough to see through his side's propaganda. He was just obligated to say that as a representative for heaven, obviously. So, Crowley decided to probe, “You really believe that?”

Crowley knew Aziraphale had never fit in with the rest of the angels. He would never admit to hating them, love being an angel’s whole thing, but Crowley felt the air filled with dread and discomfort whenever Aziraphale talked about Gabriel’s upcoming visits or any messages he received from Michael. He would hate it if heaven were to win, just like Crowley knew he would hate it if Hell won. He knew Aziraphale well enough to know exactly how to point this out. 

“How many composers have your lot got?” That caused a moment of doubt, Crowley was sure of it. He saw it flicker on the angel’s face. “Mozart’s one of ours.” 

Armageddon had to be stopped, Crowley knew either side couldn’t be allowed to win. It would mean the end of everything. It would mean all the humans, all their Earthly possessions would be destroyed forever. 

“No more old bookshops…”

Besides, he must have known somewhere deep down that the war would mean the end of their friendship. If they weren’t both dead from the fighting, whoever ended up on the losing side would be imprisoned. Or more likely, executed. Even if they both remained alive by the end of it, they would never see each other again. Surely, he didn’t think that both sides were just going to peacefully reconcile after six thousand years of tension, surely he had to realize it was going to be a bloodbath. 

But Crowley was, at heart, an optimist. He had seen enough in his time on Earth to know that things hardly ever went as planned. He'd seen that angels can give away swords, that demons can love, that humans can be unexpectedly evil or unimaginably kind, and always insanely clever. It rather seemed like God was making up the whole thing about everything following a great plan. So, he knew that something could be done to stop the whole business, and he needed the angel to help him. And surely he knew that too, he just needed to put up a show of disapproval for a bit, for heaven’s sake and all. As long as Crowley could find the right words, he knew Aziraphale would agree.

“We have to work together. I have a plan.” 

“No, we aren’t having this conversation.”

One last-ditch effort to get him on board, “Let’s have lunch, then.” And the rest is history.


End file.
